


"Give Up Your Spoon"

by SirKai



Category: Original Work, schwarz - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:37:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirKai/pseuds/SirKai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plague doctor Zacharias uses dinner as a not-so-subtle way to poke and prod at his assistant's well being.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Give Up Your Spoon"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Veitstanz](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Veitstanz).



> The characters, story, and all belong to the terrific Veitstanz!   
> Her art blog: http://veitstanz.tumblr.com/  
> Her OCs: http://veitstanz.tumblr.com/ocs 
> 
> And huuuuge thanks for her smart insight and infinite patience for me while I was writing this (as well as providing the title for the fic)!

Zacharias retrieved two wooden bowls and a soup ladle from the nearby cabinet. He flipped the ladle through his fingers and filled each bowl to its rim. After carefully placing each bowl on the (rather small) round dining table, the doctor stood back and admired the presentation with a slightly raised chest.

Pfeifer was wondering if he caught the faintest resemblance of a smirk across Zacharias’ face. “What are you so happy about?”

Any crease in the doctor’s expression mistakable for ‘joy’ vanished. “Excuse me?”

“You’re just… different, or something, when you cook.”

Zacharias tilted his head at Pfeifer, raising an accusing eyebrow at him.

“Nevermind,” Pfeifer conceded. “What’d you cook anyway?”

“Pork and vegetable stew.” Zacharias neatly sat a folded handkerchief and spoon next to each bowl. He stood near the table and raised his brow expectantly at Pfeifer.

“Can’t you just bring it to me?”

The doctor craned his neck back. “I’m allowing you to stay in my home and I’ve prepared food for you. You’re going to eat at the dining table as a civilized human being.”

“...didn’t even ask for you to fix anyth-”

Zacharias pointed an emphatic finger towards the small round dining table. “Now!”

“Fine!” Pfeifer conceded. “Jeez, I’ll eat your stupid stew.” He pushed himself up from the floor and sidled the several steps over to the dining table. He slumped into the chair opposite of his host and looked into the dark, soupy bowl. Pfeifer watched Zacharias swallow a paltry amount of stew, shrugged, and snatched up his spoon.

The doctor observed quietly as his guest ate. He was hunched over the table, shoving spoonfuls of stew into his mouth at a voracious pace. Zacharias was reminded of some kind of pitiful, starving animal. Pfeifer would swallow several mouthfuls of stew, drop the spoon, reach for his glass of water with the same hand, realize it’s water, scoff at it, retrieve the spoon, and then continue eating.

“Are you in some sort of rush?”

“I never even wanted any of your stupid food, alright,” Pfeifer answered after a large swallow. He started to dip his spoon back into the steaming broth. “I just wanna get this over with.”

The doctor shifted in his seat and raised his brow. “Very well,” he conceded, and then continued staring at Pfeifer.

The ratcatcher held the spoonful of stew at his open mouth, gaping back. “Can I help you with somethin’?” Pfeifer said, then shoved the spoon into the mouth, swallowed, and wiped his sleeve across his dripping mouth.

Zacharias cringed, and then returned to his own bowl of stew. He swallowed a small spoonful and then leaned his head in slightly towards the ratcatcher. “Nothing, it’s just that…” He rested the spoon in the bowl and propped his elbows atop the wooden surface of the table, threading his fingers together. “I’ve noticed you never use your right hand.”

There was an audible gulp as Pfeifer swallowed his latest mouthful of stew. “So? I’m left handed. Big deal.” He continued chewing, shifting his resting right hand from the tabletop to his lap.

“I’m right handed and yet I still use both of my hands for many things.”

“Yeah, and yer also educated and _successful_ and _well-to-do_. You got things to do with both hands. What do I need more ‘an one hand for?”

Zacharias was silent. His eyes lowered towards the wood grain tabletop for a moment, before he returned to eating his meal.

Pfeifer dumped the deluge from the bowl down his throat and smacked his lips.

The doctor cringed again.

“Besides,” Pfeifer said. “I figured you woulda had a lot more to say about my table manners, Doc.”

“So did I.” Zacharias raised his brow as he addressed Pfeifer from across the table. “But you at least chew with your mouth closed, which is considerably more than I anticipated.” He took another meager bite of the stew.

“Thanks, I guess.”

The two sat across from each other for another silent moment. Pfeifer slouched in his chair and cycled through a routine of glancing around the room, drumming his fingers along the edge of the table, and exhaling his breath at his dangling bangs. He finally settled on the doctor with bored, half-lidded eyes. “So are you gonna finish eating sometime this century or are you gonna chew my head off if I leave now? I gotta go wash this down with something, and not _that_.” Pfeifer shot an offended glance at the cup of water. The chair legs scraped across the wooden floor as he pushed himself from the table and turned towards the door.

“Pfeifer, wait.”

Shoulders drooping, the ratcatcher heaved a dramatic sigh, rolled his eyes, and rotated on the spot back towards the doctor. “ _What?_ ”

Zacharias marched towards him. “Let me see your hand.”

Pfeifer narrowed his eyes, and held up his left arm.

“Your other hand.”

“Screw you! What is it with you and hands anyway?”

“Pfeifer, I’m concerned. The facade you’ve crafted about your injury is getting ridiculous.” 

“Look, I don’t need any doctor, okay?” Pfeifer tugged at his sleeve and started to mumble. “‘specially not one that treats patients like you do.”

A snarl twitched at the corners of Zacharias’s mouth. “You are in no place to question my intentions _or_ capabilities.” 

“Hah! Tell that to all of the people you’ve treated-”

“ _Pfeifer!_ ” Zacharias barked. His fingers started to dig into his palms, then gently relaxed with a lengthy exhale. He regained a familiar stern expression with an arched brow. “Don’t make things difficult.”

Pfeifer pressed his lips into a thin line, and distracted himself briefly by scratching at his scalp with his good hand. He shot a look back at the doctor, then glanced at his fingernails and brushed them off on his pants. “Fine, whatever.” Pfeifer held out his right hand and rolled his eyes. He stood in place as his forearm was poked and prodded, and his fingers pinched and stretched.

“This isn’t some ‘thorn in the lion’s paw’ shit, right?” the ratcatcher asked.

Zacharias paused for a few seconds to gape at Pfeifer. “ _Excuse me?_ How in the world do you find that comparison remotely appropriate?”

“You mean you don’t just think of me as some kinda animal you’re gonna tame and get all chummy with?”

“ _No_ , but at least you have the _animal_ part correct. A lion isn’t what comes to mind though.” The doctor shook his head and returned to examining Pfeifer’s hand. He gently massaged a series of misshapen, bony ridges across the back of his hand. “Can you close your fingers into a fist?” the doctor asked.

“What do you think?”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” Zacharias said with a glowering expression, then ran his fingertips over the ridges again. With an audible “hmm,” he pressed the centermost one with his thumb.

Pfeifer hissed through his teeth and tried to jerk his hand back. “Sunnovabitch! What the hell is wrong with you!?”

Zacharias kept a firm grip on his wrist. “I promise you won’t be committing yourself to any further harm by simply _holding still_.” He took a few more broad glances across Pfeifer’s backhand and palm. “Well, the bone and muscle deformation is obviously quite severe, and your pinky finger is clearly misaligned.”

“No shit, doc.”

Zacharias ignored the remark. “The scarring is also quite faint. How old is this injury?”

“What does that matter?”

“Well, in most cases, the age of any injury can help determine methods of treatment and recovery, so knowi-”

“Woah, wait,” Pfeifer interrupted. He leaned in towards the doctor with raised eyebrows. “Do you mean you can fix it?”

Zacharias grimaced, and reflexively drew his head back. “No-- in most cases,” he repeated dryly. “Whatever you did to your hand is far beyond reversing at this stage.”

Pfeifer tugged his hand away, muttering under his breath. “ _Course it is_.”

“What else can you expect?” Zacharias asked with a flippant wave of his hand. “Given how you treat yourself, it’s a wonder you haven’t mangled the other hand as well.” The doctor looked at each of his own hands with a frown and rolled up his sleeves. “Now I’d better wash myself…”

A sneer extended across Pfeifer’s face. “Heh, so is that it? I’m just like all of your other patients? Too damaged to fix?”

“Pfeifer, even if the wound was recent, do you realize the measures taken to treat something like that?” The doctor continued to straighten the folded sleeves at his elbows. “I doubt a timely surgery would have helped much.”

“Well that’s real comforting,” the ratcatcher taunted. “If I’m _lucky_ I end up a cripple, instead of getting hacked to death by a quack like you over some broken fingers.” His expression sagged, and his half-lidded eyes meandered away from the plague physician’s face until they rested on his long fingers. He watched them, articulate and precise, crimp the folds on his sleeves. 

Zacharias crossed his arms and greeted Pfeifer with a scowl when he looked back up at him. 

“Lucky it is, then,” Pfeifer said in a quiet voice. His feet shuffled him towards the door. “I’m gonna go get that drink now.”


End file.
